Don’t know what he’s looking so twisted about. He should thank me. Looks like with my encouragement he’s shifted some of the weight.
I spread a smile on as thick as I can, biting the corner of my lower lip in a purely calculated decision. Nothing works so well to make me seem innocent as my white teeth snagging on the crimson lipstick.
Ben doesn’t appear impressed. Not at first glance, not when I’m stammering through my excuses for why I didn’t keep track of the nozzle, not as I offer my plan to drive away and find the payment elsewhere, then return to make him whole.
Guess I shovelled enough shit his way over the past few years that he now thinks that’s all I deal in.
Guess I deserve it when he shakes his head no at everything I say.
“Well, what’re you going to do? Impound my car?”
“For starters,” he says in a bored voice, gesturing me to the side as he deals with a proper paying customer.
I took the wrong tack. I see that now. If I’d come in, sweet with apologies and maybe easing the passage with a few tears…
No. On second thought, that wouldn’t have worked either. It might have given Ben more satisfaction to see how low life had brought me, but it wouldn’t soften his heart. A good thing, I suppose. If his heart were as soft as his belly, then it would have collapsed years ago under the strain.
Jesus Christ. No wonder no one likes you.
And that internal voice could fuck right off. Or at the very least, update itself as to my friend status. No one is a far cry from the truth.
There’s a man in this town who likes me very much indeed.
He likes me so much that sweat beads on my forehead, and I feel like vomiting.
You’re not going to call him. Things aren’t that bad. Yet.
I spin away from the counter, thinking furiously, but there aren’t any new thoughts to be had, so I just wear out the old ones. Staring at my phone doesn’t engender any bright ideas, just reminds me of how my circle of friends is closing.
Girls who used to scurry after me in the school corridors, hoping I’d pay them the slightest bit of attention, have shifted their allegiance while I was otherwise occupied. The nerds and dweebs who used to hide when they saw me coming barely glance at me before resuming whatever horrendous pursuits they have instead of a social life.
Ben’s free again.
“If you let me drive away now, I’ll be back in less than an hour with the money.”
And it might be true. I’m wearing a ring and a pair of bangles that Zach gave me. The only gifts left from him I haven’t already pawned.
Hindsight is a bitch, but you better believe that I’m taking notes for the future. Next time I get a rich boyfriend, I’m taking nothing but cash or gold bullion for my efforts. None of this letting them pick out items they think I’ll like or whatever was going on behind the scenes.
You want to know what’s pretty? A giant envelope of cash, that’s what. It suits my complexion and every mood I’ve ever had to a T.
“I need my car, Ben.”
The blank statement doesn’t even stir a hair on his bushy eyebrows. He just stares at me with the same bored expression, repeating once again for good measure, “That’s against store policy.”
“How’m I meant to get hold of money if I can’t go anywhere?”
“You can walk.”
“I’m wearing three-inch heels. If I walk more than twenty metres in any direction, I’ll need corrective footwear.”
“Good.”
Now his expression changes, but it’s not the positive change I had hoped for. Instead, his glare is hot enough to strip paint. Lucky that I didn’t offer to blow him in exchange. That wouldn’t work when he’s so upset.
Or it would. I can’t ever tell with men. Even the ones like Ben who’d have been better off as abortions.
Stop it. It’s not his fault you’re poor.
